Then Sings My Soul
by Shahrezad1
Summary: iPod Shuffle challenge. What happens when a writer is inspired ten times by ten different songs? I'll tell you what happens...


Then Sings My Soul

**Then Sings My Soul**

**By Shahrezad1**

Ooookay, this is in response to the iPod shuffle curveball Arnold's Love sent my way. It's a challenge in which you have to write a series of songfics from a random selection of music on your iPod, and finish by the time each of the songs end. I think I have to do ten, sooo…here goes.

(Disclaimer: That whole 'Assembledge' was illegal. So would this be, if I was making any profit from it. So I'm not. Hey Arnold belongs to Craig and Nick, and the songs belong to their respective parties.)

I Tag:

**Anyone with a writer's or artist's block.** This is seriously the most creative thing I've done in a long time.

--

"Good Man." Emerson Drive

"_I wanna be the one,_

_when all is said and done._

_Lived a good life,_

_Loved a good wife,_

_Always helped someone in trouble._

_On the day they lay me down,_

_I want everyone to gather round._

_And say 'He was a Father,_

_Brother,_

_Neighbor,_

_And a Friend._

_He was a Good Man."_

Staring down at the woman beside him, he marveled in the dark at all the blessings he'd been given. It seemed only yesterday they'd been fighting and making wishes and hopes for the future. Only to look at them now, surrounded by the love of family and friends. Watching generation after generation follow in their wake. Their great-grandson Johnny unfortunately inheriting his head. And Michael and Joy's new baby girl was the spitting image of his beloved wife.

So long ago he'd thought Grandpa was so _old_, spinning tales and sharing wisdom. Only to see now, looking back, that he and Phil hadn't been all that different. They'd seen hardship and pain, and love purer than words. They'd had wives stronger than they could ever be, and I had experienced trials they would never trade in for a life of ease.

In the silence of the night, she drew herself closer to him. Her breath heavy upon his chin as he slowly brushed her now-silver bangs from her forehead, caressing the trademark unibrow with loving affection. Stars twinkling above him and woman he loved in his arms, Arnold was finally able to drift off into a peaceful slumber. Safe in the knowledge that everything important to him lay within his arms.

--

"Sharp Dressed Man." ZZ Top

"_Clean shirt, new shoes  
And I dont know where I am goin to.  
Silk suit, black tie,  
I dont need a reason why.  
They come runnin just as fast as they can  
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man._

Gold watch, diamond ring,  
I aint missin a single thing.  
And cufflinks, stick pin,  
When I step out Im gonna do you in.  
They come runnin just as fast as they can  
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.

Top coat, top hat,  
I dont worry coz my wallets fat.  
Black shades, white gloves,  
Lookin sharp and lookin for love.  
They come runnin just as fast as they can  
Coz every girl grazy bout a sharp dressed man."

He knew they all wanted him.

But he was only there for _her_.

Dressed all in black, top hat placed atop his stack of hair, he stared into waves of women. Each vying for his attention, each screaming out his name. Every single one of them he would have stopped on the street to ask their name. Their number. But no longer. He had his eyes set on the prize—the one thing he'd wanted since childhood, the one thing he'd never give up again. Not for the sake of his foolish pride, or the fame of the music industry, or even riches.

The world and all its cries fell silent in the face of her elegance. Her honest beauty and her desire to only help others; never to hurt. A woman who'd sacrificed herself for others from day one, going into a field filled with heartache and loss. Losing a part of her soul each time she lost another soldier to the war.

It was something he almost couldn't fathom with his drive for Self. But that wouldn't stop him. He'd even do anything for the short woman, hair as dark as night and eyes shielded by glass. Even change himself, become a better person.

He'd set himself out to get her, and he wouldn't let get anything get in his way.

Not even himself.

--

"The Look." By Roxette

"_Walking like a man  
Hitting like a hammer  
She's a juvenile scam  
Never was a quitter  
Tasty like a raindrop  
She's got the look_

Heavenly bound  
Cause heaven's got a number  
When she's spinning me around  
Kissing is a colour  
Her loving is a wild dog  
She's got the look

She's got the look (She's got the look) She's got the look (She's got the look)  
What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue  
When everything I'll ever do I'll do for you  
And I go la la la la la she's got the look"

Arnold stared down his camera lens, almost forgetting for a moment what he was there to do. All time seemed to suspend as his entire being became focused on a single object within his view.

Helga, walking down the New York runway, dressed as a representative of one of Rhonda's most recent creations. Legs long and smooth peeked out from under a skin-tight, knee-length black-jean skirt, hems frayed. Ending in four-inch spiked hot pink heels. The only real color in the entire outfit besides the matching bow; a single ribbon tying back the long, wavy hair that cascaded down her back.

One long bang covering her left eye, and wearing a tight black leather jacket, his surroundings seemed to freeze as one memory superimposed another. Lost in shock, the award-winning photographer's hands lost all their strength and, unnoticed, time seemed to slow as he camera fell to the hard floor, several thousands dollars dashed to pieces within a second's time.

All eyes were upon the young blonde, but he saw none of it. All he could think was…

"Cecille? _Helga?_!"

For the first time in history, a New York model lost her step and fell into the crowd, blue eyes wide with shock as Rhonda's 'Perfect' show fell to pieces.

--

"I Won't Say (I'm In Love)" –Hercules, 1997

_Meg: _

"_If there's a prize for rotten judgement  
I guess I've already won that  
No man is worth the aggravation  
That's ancient history, been there, done that!_

Muses: Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'  
He's the Earth and heaven to you  
Try to keep it hidden  
Honey, we can see right through you  
Girl, ya can't conceal it  
We know how ya feel and  
Who you're thinking of

Meg:  
No chance, no way  
I won't say it, no, no

Muses:  
You swoon, you sigh  
why deny it, uh-oh

Meg:  
It's too cliche  
I won't say I'm in love

I thought my heart had learned its lesson  
It feels so good when you start out  
My head is screaming get a grip, girl  
Unless you're dying to cry your heart out  
Ohhhh!"

You'd have thought she'd grown a brain by now. To be honest, it wasn't as though things were the same. She's grown up, he'd moved on, they'd become friends. And yet she could never extricate him from the back of her mind.

Like a poisonous mold, never killed despite cleaning, the thoughts came unbidden. With every 'hello,' every, 'doi!,' 'crimeny!,' and 'take a picture, Football-head, it'll last longer.' It was always there. Lingering, like the stench of barbecue leftovers left out on the counter.

A smell one didn't particularly want to be reminded of during Chemistry.

Gagging, she nearly choked on the smoke drifting hazily from the mysterious contents of her beaker. Somehow she'd managed to mix the pink liquid (whatever that had been) with the liquid soap. Creating a reaction she'd neither anticipated nor welcomed. As suddenly gone as it had appeared, the scent disappeared. Squinting open one blue eye, suddenly red with irritation of both kinds, she met the green eyes of her current mold obsession. After all, he was such a "Fungi." _Fun guy_, get it?

"Shaddup," the blonde girl muttered to herself, inwardly slapping herself for the bad pun as all strength was once again leached from her body.

"Sorry?" Arnold backed up a step in surprise from his position at the sink, savior of all things cleanly, as _Saint Defeater-Of-The-Stench_, "are you okay, Helga?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great, Football-head. It's not you, it's me."

Brow arching, he slowly turned back to his task with a shrug, "whatever you say, Helga…"

--

"Hold On" by Wilson Phillips

"_I know this pain  
Why do lock yourself up in these chains?  
No one can change your life except for you  
Don't ever let anyone step all over you  
Just open your heart and your mind  
Is it really fair to feel this way inside?_

_Chorus:__  
Some day somebody's gonna make you want to  
Turn around and say goodbye  
Until then baby are you going to let them  
Hold you down and make you cry  
Don't you know?  
Don't you know things can change  
Things'll go your way  
If you hold on for one more day  
Can you hold on for one more day  
Things'll go your way  
Hold on for one more day_

You could sustain  
Or are you comfortable with the pain?  
You've got no one to blame for your unhappiness  
You got yourself into your own mess  
Lettin' your worries pass you by  
Don't you think it's worth your time  
To change your mind?

_"You can either let things sit the way they are, or you can do something about them. The first step is yours, Helga, and no one else's. Arnold won't know how you feel until you tell him."_

Bliss' words seemed to rattle around in her brain like old mothballs. Or pieces from shrine's past. Still every time she turned around they were there, sticking to the forefront with skill and precision.

_"Your obsession with Ice Cream has got to change, Helga. For the better or worse. You can either learn to love him visibly…or let him go. Anything else is unhealthy. Please trust me—I'm your best friend."_

And so it was, one by one the steps had been laid. One by one she'd realized what she needed; what she needed to say.

Hand on the handle of her closet door, she swung it wide open and took the first step into a new life, and a new Helga. The poetry was boxed and placed in the attic, the shrine dismantled. And every piece of pink was removed, placed in loving memory within a Salvation Army box.

It was time to change. And the first step began with her.

Taking an eyebrow plucker in hand, she set at the wall that made her Helga G. Pataki. The wall of anger, and fear. And with a single swipe she broke it within her first. Revealing for the first time the girl underneath.

_Geraldine._

--

"Morningside." By Sara Bareilles

"_I'm not scared of you now  
Or so I say  
There's no reason to run  
Although I may  
I'm not as sure as I seem  
This much I know  
What does it mean you leave and I follow_

I could try to forget what you do when I let you get  
Through to me but then you do it over again  
I could rage like a fire and you'd bring rain I desire  
Til you get to me on my morningside

Keep my distance I tried  
No use  
But no matter the miles  
I'm back to you

I could try to forget what you do when I let you get  
Through to me but then you do it over again  
I could rage like a fire and you'd bring rain I desire  
Til you get to me on my morningside

Let me down you say never baby blues don't you ever  
I'm used to being one with the misfortune to find  
Afternoons run for cover and full moons just wonder  
What it looks like here on my morningside"

He was trying to drive her insane. That was the only explanation for it all.

With each passing day he seemed to follow her more and more. Passing her by in the hallway, just happening to appear at the water cooler, grabbing last minute for the same elevator.

And then there were those kisses. Those insane, devil-may-care, _straight-through-to-your-heart_ kisses that melted her toes and made her forget that they were trapped in prairie-dogged cubicles. And he would leave her there, weak in her knees, just as their supervisor would walk by.

No matter how many times she demanded he stop, he just continued onward. With that silly 'Bright Side of Things' smile, and the annoyingly, perfectly messy blonde hair. Hair you could run your fingers through, hair that was made to touch.

Sighing in frustration, she tried to turn to the plans they were to present to their current client. Plans they were to present together. Plans for a new art studio. Plans they had been working on. Together. Every day.

The pencil she held gripped in her hands snapped with a single swift crack. And growling deep under her breath, she said a single name. A name she'd tried to let go so long ago. To give him a chance at his own life, separate from hers.

How was she to know that the fool would follow her across the planet and back?

_"Arnold,"_ she growled out. A single word none of her coworkers heard. Due to the sudden explosion of broken and thrown office supplies tossed through her cubicle and sent flying through the air.

--

"Independence Day" by Martina McBride

"_Well she seemed all right by dawn's early light  
Though she looked a little worried and weak  
She tried to pretend he wasn't drinkin' again  
But daddy left the proof on her cheek  
and I was only eight years old that summer  
And I always seemed to be in the way  
So I took myself down to the fair in town  
On Independence Day_

Well word gets around in a small, small town  
They said he was a dangerous man  
Mama was proud and she stood her ground  
she knew she was on the losin' end  
Some folks whispered some folks talked  
but everybody looked the other way  
when time ran out there was no one about  
On Independence Day

CHORUS:  
Let Freedom ring ,let the white dove sing  
Let the whole world know that today is a  
Day of reckoning  
Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong  
Roll the stone away, let the guilty pay, it's  
Independence Day."

Mirriam could hear the bells calling her like a call to freedom. They rang out from every side like a heavenly chorus. Breaking through the fog of milk shakes and whisky, through the blanket of dissatisfaction and sorrow.

She knew he didn't love her anymore. Any more than he _ever_ had. When they'd been young she'd believed, once upon a time, that there'd been an inkling of affection. That somewhere in his heart he'd found a place for her, and at the time it had been enough. But no longer. All it had been was his obsession with having the best.

The best wife, the best daughter. And as she had fallen from her pedestal, and their second daughter had never filled her eldest's shoes, they had fallen by the wayside. In the form of Bob working more hours at work, and spending more nights in front of the television.

And she was tired of it all.

She would no longer be trapped in the stupor that was her husband. Her lack-thereof marriage. Mirriam Pataki would be free once more. And with her, Helga. One day, soon, they would fly away from it all.

The bells leading them into a new day.

--

"For the Love of a Woman." By Jericho Road

"_For the love of a woman a man unlocks his heart  
And reveals all the secrets it holds  
And the love of a woman will find his better part  
When he gives her the key to his soul_

He will listen to her dreams  
He will ask her what she needs  
He will help her build the life she wants to live  
He will hold her when she cries  
With a love that never dies  
All these things he will give  
For the love of a woman

For the love of a woman a man will sacrifice  
While he waits for a moment of grace  
With the love of a woman a man will pay the price  
For the trust that he sees in her face

_He will open any door  
Leave the life he knew before  
To convince her that he's all she'll ever need  
And when he's afraid to start  
He will step into the dark  
'Cause he knows she'll give his eyes the power to see  
With the love of a woman"_

Here it was. There they were. Standing side by side all in white. Tied for time and all eternity, unified till the end of their days and beyond.

"I do," he stated firmly, and with it his green eyes glittered with truth. With words unspoken, but seen. Words that would brand themselves within her heart and carry her onward through tests and trials and chaos.

_I do. With all my heart, my mind, my strength. I give everything to you, to help you always know how much I cherish you. How individual you are, and how I expect you to only ever be yourself. And should you ever anger, I welcome it with open heart. Because that's part of you, too._

"I do," she echoed, and with it came an echo of their future. Of children to come, and happiness to be found. Relaxing talk on the front porch, and endless days of giddy laughter. Smiles to fight the frowns of the past, to teach and grow and make all his days bright.

_I do. With my soul. A soul you brought to life, one I never knew existed until you began to love it. I promise to show you always how much I love you; to never hold it back and hide what I truly feel. To always leave with you, at the end of each day, the knowledge that you are never alone. That although you've lost so many, I'll always stand by your side. You can't get rid of me, whether you want to or not._

"I now pronounce you Man and Wife. You may now kiss the bride."

--

"Don't Stop" by Fleetwood Mac

"_If you wake up and don't want to smile,  
If it takes just a little while,  
Open your eyes and look at the day,  
You'll see things in a different way._

Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,  
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,  
It'll be, better than before,  
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.

Why not think about times to come,  
And not about the things that you've done,  
If your life was bad to you,  
Just think what tomorrow will do.

Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,  
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,  
It'll be, better than before,  
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone."

"Today we stand! And we won't ever give up!" standing before the podium, hands pumping in the air, he could feel it return to him. This was it, this was right. This was what had been missing from his life. A mission, a quest. The desire to help, to grow.

To save.

Glancing to his left of him he met his old bully's eyes and for a moment they shared a look. Of understand and fellowship, brought about by feelings and experiences only they shared. And in the darkness of the auditorium, doors flying open as armed forces came barreling through the doors, she smiled.

And in that smile he saw his future. Never noticing the chaos that followed, the yells and fighting. Even as their protesting group was tied up and pulled roughly outside, friends and foes together in one common goal, they never lost sight of one another.

Because they were on a mission to save. Not some poor lost soul with another plight coming his way, or kids with more gruff than sense trying to prove themselves against her. But to save one another. To seek to make the world a better place, and in doing so proving their worth.

Because without Helga it was all meaningless.

She was the only thing that mattered, and he would fight for her even if it took his whole life.

--

"Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield

"_I break tradition  
Sometimes my tries  
Are outside the lines, oh yeah yeah  
We've been conditioned  
To not make mistakes  
But I can't live that way oh, oh_

Staring at the blank page before you  
Open up the dirty window  
Let the sun illuminate the words  
That you could not find  
Reaching for something in the distance  
So close you can almost taste it  
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin  
No one else can feel it for you  
Only you can let it in  
No one else, no one else  
Can speak the words on your lips  
drench yourself in words unspoken  
Live your life with arms wide open  
Today is where your book begins  
the rest still unwritten"

Eyes, millions of eyes, scrolled across the ink. Passing by word of mouth, by text, by email. She was _her_. She was the one who had called out the tyranny of so many. Who had lauded the kindness of others, revealing the humility that had only ever been hidden. All penned being an Anonymous facade in her search to help others. To be who she was, regardless of stereotypes and lies. Of hate and unkindness and love hidden behind a brick wall of self-loathing.

She, within her cage of stones, was the only one who could see. Who could move out behind the scenes and fight back.

Arnold once had asked her why she did it, so long ago. _Why, why, why. _

_Why?_ She had answered. _Because I love you._

And so it was with those she had secretly cared for since preschool, who through her bulling she had made stronger. Who she had helped quietly, never seeking praise. Only seeking to overthrow those willing to take away their rights, their freedoms. Their homes.

And so it was through writing she had continued. Through posters, and random art, and tagging. Through postings on the school bulletin board, and painted sheets hung in the gymnasium.

_Fight back, she said. Find yourself. Don't let them do this to you. You are better than that._

And all the while Arnold had supported the unknown writer. Because they had written what needed to be said. How was he to know that he was her inspiration? To become herself. To love herself as he loved others, as she had learned to love.

Anonymous had been revealed. Helga was _The Writer_. And so she would go down in the history of Hillwood. A free spirit finally freed from her chains.

By the words that came from her own mouth.

--

AN: Wow. This surprised me. It was a lot of fun—enough that I stayed up till 1:36 writing it. And you never quite realize how many inspirational songs you have until you start to put your silly machine on shuffle.

This was an excellent creativity creator. I recommend it.

(I've actually wanted to write a "Sharp Dressed Man" songfic for Gerald for a long time, to be truthful. In my mind I just keep hearing, 'Yeah, but he's a natty-datty dresser,' over and over again. XD )


End file.
